


Stowaways

by burntsugarandhalfawilltolive



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aklan (OC), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst?, Aromantic Character, Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Enimsa (OFC), F/F, Gen, Ileema (OFC), Implied/Referenced Character Death, It Makes Sense in Context, LANCE AND SHIRO ARE IN A LOVING RELATIONSHIP AND NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE, Lance is such a good boy, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Priests, Quinim (OFC), allura cant turn off her gay thoughts, but dont worry its just an oc, but in a monarchy kinda way, but not really, everybody loves allura, i made up an alien drug for this, its becoming a problem, one of thems a lion so thats cool, probably angst, religious quintessence, set after Keith leaves in s4 bec that is when i started writing, shiro isnt a clone, so yeah Keith is still mia, thats not a fact i just dont want to write it, the government is run by the religious leaders, this is the self-insert fic i didnt mean to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-04-23 21:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14341302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burntsugarandhalfawilltolive/pseuds/burntsugarandhalfawilltolive
Summary: Team Voltron touches down on a planet that practices with Quintessence religiously and strives for purity in it, hoping to get a break. Unfortunately, Lance's quintessence is impure, meaning that he would probably be killed on sight. Even worse, Allura has already accepted the invitation to this planet before she knows this.Planetside, the two fugitives plot to escape their planet by hiding on the Castle of Lions. If it all goes smoothly, they'll get off at the next planet they come by to get to a trading outpost, so that they can meet up with a partner of theirs. Unbeknownst to them, the next High Priestess plans to do the same thing, except she isn't going to hide from the paladins.





	1. Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

> yes, this is a self-insert fic. usually, i detest self-inserts, however my friends asked me to do it and i got waaay too into it. thus, stowaways was born

Two moons shone brightly in the night sky, one noticeably larger than the other. The sky was clear of clouds, however the native creatures, whose home was among the stars, danced in the air. A faint sound of their wings beating heard. An outline of a flock visible against the soft light of the moons. Distant stars twinkled against the otherwise black sky. 

 

Trees colored varying shades of red, blue, and green grew beside a fence, causing it to become deformed and seemingly unkempt. Behind thick shrubbery, a hole in that fence was hidden. The hole was large enough to fit almost anyone, allowing those who dared to explore this forest. But why would you? Too many unconfirmed rumors of pets, and in a rare occasion children, going missing in this forest were enough to deter even the most impulsive and brash of men. Only an idiot would even  _ consider _ exploring the forest. 

 

What many failed to realize is that the stories of the missing beings were just that; stories,

made up by concerned parents ages ago. Unfortunately, the stories were quickly spread throughout the district and accepted as truth. And because of the irrational fear of the forest, no one went in. Which made it the perfect place to hide. 

 

A couple of the avei from the flock, previously flying, had settled on the roof of the home nearest to the forest. However, they were soon disturbed and reluctantly flew away. The one who had done the disturbing seemed to either ignore their squawks of protest or simply did not care. Swiftly climbing out of the window, the tall and feminine form was opaque in the shadow of the house. She continued, descending the side of the building in the shadows, surprisingly stealthy for her larger appearance. Once her feet had touched solid ground again, she let out a long breath, quietly thanking a higher power no noise was made during her trip. 

 

She cautiously made her way over to the fence, glancing over her shoulder every thirty tics. Even with the moons’ light, her surroundings were too dark for her to find the bushes guarding the “entrance” to the forest. Eyes adjusting, she stopped. She pushed back a branch and ducked as she stepped through the fence and into the forest. She found the path, made from her many visits to this forest. Eight years of her feet paved into this path. She smiled, nostalgic. Her feet took her to a fallen tree that she had been told was yellow before, but now it was more of a ghostly white. She took a seat on the stump, waiting. 

 

“You said you would bring a crappy cookie today,” came a voice from behind her, sounding thoroughly disappointed. 

 

She turned around to meet the discontented, glowing, yellow, eyes. “Okay, first of all, I did bring a crappy cookie-,” at this, the newcomer smiled, excited once again at the prospects of a crappy cookie, “-but it’s not the usual kind.”

 

Now, the girl who craved the cookies was confused. She opened her mouth to ask for the other to explain but she beat her to it. “Secondly,” she said, a smug grin forming on her lips, “it’s nighttime so ya’ can’t say ‘today’.”

 

“Oh, yeah? Well, you smell like tok.”

 

She chuckled at the retort. “Honestly, Qui, when don’t I?,” she responded. While taking a bag of poorly-made cookies out of a satchel resting at her hips.

 

“You’re an asshole.” Qui commented while glaring at her friend. “Now gimme.”

 

She laughed and took two cookies out of the bag; one for Qui and one for herself. Qui hastily snatched the crappy cookie and started nibbling while they both started walking further down the path. 

 

“Hey, Kitten, ‘s Aklan comin’ tonight?”

 

“Nah, too tired,” she answered with a twinge of annoyance. “But that just means we won’t have to worry about her huge paws getting in the way.”

 

“True, that’s the trouble when you let a lion watch you do shit that they don’t understand.”

 

Qui hummed in agreement. Her ears flicking off night-bugs that landed on her. Her face taking an extremely bothered expression. The other giggled, having no night-bugs interested in sucking her blood.

 

“I’m blaming my dad for my stupidly sweet blood. Damn my sweet-tasting blood,” she huffed.

 

“Take note, Qui, this is one of the very few moments I’m actually glad to be related those Priestly pricks.”

 

“You lucky little pureblood,” hissed Qui, no real malice behind the words.

 

The pureblood rolled her eyes. “Oh yes so lucky.” she said, her true opinion of her blood heard in her sarcasm. “I have the pleasure of being locked away in my room doodling random shit that I think of! And all this because I have shifting-quintessence disorder. How fortunate my shifting-quintessence ass is to be in this perfectly ideal situation,” she paused, mischievously grinning in the darkness as a joke came to mind. “Selling drugs and hiding from the government.”

 

She received a bittersweet laugh from that performance. “That makes two of us.”

 

They shared a thoughtful look, both grieving for their...less than ideal situations. She sucked in a deep breath, clearing her head. It was always hard to do those kinds of jokes. Qui would either start rolling on the ground, laughing or become solemn and reserved. Worth a shot, all the same.

 

When the two friends were in sight of their destination, she decided to attempt to bring the mood back to where it was. “So,” she started, carefully accessing her friend’s mood. “Whatcha been working on while I was aways at the house?”

 

Her face lit up at her question, ever excited about her projects. “Careful, Ileema, your Ainiriv District is showing.” 

 

Ileema let out an offended gasp. “Shut up, it’s jus’ how I talk, asshole,” she irritatedly grumbled while Qui let out and airy giggle.

 

The workshop wasn’t really all that much of a workshop as it was a poorly-built treehouse. The two had built it when they were a lot younger, back when a treehouse was the “coolest thing anyone could have”. It evolved as Ileema got better at construction and Qui figured out the technology they received from a friend. Still, it wasn’t perfect and looked more like a quilt of different styles and colors with fairy lights because those are always awesome. 

 

“Actually, I’m working on a project to stay up to date with the news up at Capitol Temple,” Qui said, entertained with concept. “That way, you won’t have to fill me in.”

 

“Oh, thank the gods, it was getting really fuckin’ hard to remember everything.”

 

Qui snorted. “No seriously, Quinim! I have literally the worst memory on the planet,” she emphasized, waving her hands dramatically in the air.

 

The ladder up to their workshop was less of a ladder and more of multicolored planks nailed into the tree. The half-blooded friend had sanded the planks down and complained about the dust in her hair months afterward. Ileema had laughed every time she mentioned it, grateful for her lack of fur.

 

“Did ya’ use the radio that Yerac gave us?” she wondered aloud. 

 

“Yeah!” the girl above her grunted, pushing open the trapdoor and pulling herself up. “That and the cords from last round.”

 

Illeema climbed up after her friend, a both proud and curious smile forming. She could feel the green and black patches forming on her quintessence marks. 

 

Now in the light, she could see Quinim, legs crossed and an assortment of tools at her side. In her halfblood friend’s hands was the project; a radio designed to receive news from all around the quadrant. It fundamentally the same as when they got it, however Qui had made some minor changes in order for it to adapt to the cords they had available. Ileema sat beside her, studying the outfitted radio. Her eyes followed the cords attached to the radio up to the ceiling, where a hole was drilled through to the roof. Illeema quirked her brow, confused.

 

“Why’re the cords goin’ to the roof?” she mumbled, mostly to herself. Intrigued, the larger girl stood up and grabbed the tablet off the shelf. The tablet was a hub for the whole domicile; it controlled the lights and cameras recording surveillance of the area surrounding the treehouse. Ileema tapped on the roof footage. The screen filled up with a live video of the roof, featuring a large satellite. Realization dawned on her.

 

Suddenly radio static flooded her ears, causing them both to wince. Ileema whipped back around to face her tech junky of a friend, throwing her hands up to cover her ears. Said friend was hurriedly turning down the sound knob, in a futile effort to spare the large ears pinned back and against her head. 

 

“Alrighty!” exclaimed the larger girl, clapping her hands together. Quinim looked up from the enhanced radio in her hands. “Now that we know that the sound works, let’s see if it actually does it’s job,” she finished with a pointed look settling on her shorter friend.

 

Qui giggled at Ileema’s comment about the sound. “Sorry about that,” she apologized, bringing an hand up to scratch the back of her neck.

 

“Nah, it’s all cool, man,” accepted the other girl. “Seriously, though,” she continued, “does it work?”

 

“Um, only one way to find out, I guess?” answered Quinim, uncrossing her legs and getting up to place the radio on the table. The taller friend shrugged in response. 

 

“Hand me the tablet,” Qui requested. Ileema complied and gave it to her friend. She plugged it into a cord connected to the radio then balanced it on top of the radio. She turned her head back to Ileema, grinning anxiously. 

 

“Moment of truth,” she said, seeking reassurance in her larger friend.

 

“Yep,” she responded, giving a smile. 

 

In a flurry of movements, the screen showed a reporter interviewing the next High Priestess. 

 

“-how do you feel about your training, how far along are you?-”

 

Qui turned around, beaming; they both were. 

 

“It worked!” she yelled, excitedly, and jumped onto Ileema.

 

“Fuck, yes!” she punched the air, proud of her friend. Said friend was still clinging onto her side so she peeled her off and grabbed her by the shoulders, setting Qui directly in front of her. She leaned down slightly and exclaimed, “You did it! You finally fuckin’ did it!” Ileema gathered her up in her arms and squeezed her into a proud hug. “You fuckin’ did it, you smart little asshole!”

 

“I can’t even believe it works. Sugar, it works!”

 

“Hell yeah, it does!”

 

“-planning on reforming an alliance with Voltron, is that true?”

 

The two separated slightly, sharing a confused look. “Voltron?” they said.

 

“Yes, to our knowledge, Voltron’s beliefs match well with our own and it doesn’t hurt that they have a reputation in defeating Galra ships.”

 

Ileema dropped Quinim back down. The two were immensely confused.

 

“But doesn’t Team Voltron have a half-breed as a leader?”

 

“I think they used to, but Yerac told me they did a little lion switchin’,” added Ileema, coming up behind Qui to get a better look at the screen.

 

“So, that means…” Qui trailed off, sudden realization washing over both of them. 

 

Ileema blanched, “Oh shit.”

 

Quinim turned sharply back around to Ileema, grabbing her arms, “Dude, we have to warn them! Who knows what they would do if they found out!”

 

“How?” exclaimed the equally as concerned girl. “We don’t got a way to contact them!”

 

Ileema watched as an idea formed behind Qui’s eyes and a smirk formed on her lips. “Not yet, we don’t”

 

“But we don’t know when their gonna contact the paladins! By the time you finished, they could have already sent the invite before we even get to them!”

 

“-we plan on inviting them at noon tomorrow-”

 

The two girls returned their attention to the girl on the screen, the next High Priestess.

 

“Thank you, future High Priestess for your convenient timing!” shouted Qui.

 

“The universe is on our side, man.”

 

Suddenly, Qui was dashing around the room at the speed of light, gathering random nick-nacks she deemed useful for this project.

 

“Uh…”

 

“SHUT UP!” shrieked Quinim. “I GOTTA MAKE THIS SHIT IN 16 FUCKIN’ HOURS!”

 

Ileema backed up, hands raised in defeat. “Okay, okay, I’m just gonna sit here for a while, then.” She sat down and unattached a pipe from its place on the sash around her midsection. Slipping the pipe in her mouth, she took a small, orange pellet from the pouch also tied to her sash and dropped it in the pipe. In seconds, Ileema could taste the faint taste of smoke and tok on her tongue. 

 

Quinim was still at the desk, erratically shoving the collected trinkets together. “THE FATE OF VOLTRON IS IN MY HANDS! GIVE ME COOKIES!”

 

“Yessir!”


	2. The Call

“-Shiro! On your right!”

 

“I got it!”

 

“Thanks, Sharpshooter!”

 

Team Voltron was watching a video of their last battle. Shiro claimed it was “to point out our flaws and then fix them” and Allura was all for it, at first. She had always wondered why the paladins had called Shiro the “Dad” of the team but now she was starting to understand. He really did act like a parent. 

 

The five of them, plus Coran, were in the command room, a large screen in the back featuring the mentioned video and the paladins in front of it. True to her inquisitive nature, Pidge was intently listening to Shiro… when he was looking. Behind her back was her laptop, open, but concealed enough that you couldn’t see what was displayed. Lance was leaning on Hunk, arm on his shoulder. He appeared to be listening, but knowing Lance, he was probably off in his own world. Hunk seemed to be focused on Pidge, curious to know what she was hiding. Every once in awhile, the two boys would turn to each other and whisper, usually followed by a small chuckle or smile so Allura could only assume they were telling jokes. Allura was really only half-listening to Shiro. She was glad he took his role seriously, however, after the first eight rewinds, she lost interest. 

 

To be fair, the other paladins had stopped paying attention around the third rewind. Allura couldn’t blame them. As much as she despised admitting it, this was one of the most boring things she had endured. 

 

Suddenly, an alert appeared over the video. 

 

Allura let out a faint sigh of relief for the distraction as she pressed the red flashing light and a Norokan Priest was shown on the screen. 

 

“Greetings, I am Priest Burec of Norokania,” he announced, eyes flitting to offscreen then back again to Allura. The Priest seemed uncomfortable and stiff. “I have called as a spokesman for my planet. We would like to join your new Voltron Coalition and invite the paladins to Capital Temple to rest if they so wish it.”

 

The Priest’s message was direct and to the point, a Norokan trademark.

 

“We would love to negotiate the Voltron Coalition with your people. If you could, send us the coordinates for your landing site. My fellow paladins and I would be delighted to take a rest on your planet.” She smiled, with all the strange events from the past weeks her fellow paladins were sure to enjoy some time to relax. 

 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the Priest bowed to the Altean Princess and the screen dispersed. 

“Aw, yeah!” enthusiastically yelled Lance. “Vacation time!”

 

Allura turned around to listen to the paladins’ input. 

 

“Yeah,” agreed Hunk. “For once, since we became paladins, we are actually invited to  _ vacation _ on a planet.”

 

“I feel like this too good to be true,” added Pidge, unsure.

 

Static filled the control room as another video call came through. The paladins turned back to the screen as the static receded into pixelated and grainy footage of an alien girl. Allura thought she heard Pidge say something like “there it is”. This first thing Allura noticed about the girl was her glowing, yellow eyes focusing intently on something below the camera. Her hair was black and cut in a short bob with purple ears atop her head, as well as small, round, and green antennae in between her ears. Her skin was a light gray with lavender patches scattered like vitiligo on her face and the rest of her body. There was one large spot over her right eye.  _ Probably of Galran descent _ , Allura mused.

 

“-Okay, okay,” she said, placing her arms at her side. 

 

Allura looked over at her paladins. The other paladins all expressed confusion and curiosity clearly on their faces.

 

“I think it’s working now,” the girl said, satisfied with her work although her voice carried an undertone of frantic. “My screen is kinda blocky so I can’t really tell what I’m looking at,” she paused, eyes squinting. “You all just look like tiny, little, square people.”

 

“This is the Castle of Lions, you are talking to the Paladins of Voltron,” greeted Allura, putting herself back into the role of diplomat.

 

The girl’s face brightened. A proud smile overtook her face. “I did it,” she whispered. “Ileema!” she called, facing behind her. 

 

“What?” a feminine voice responded.

 

“I did it.”

 

They heard floorboards shifting and soon saw the body of a second girl, significantly larger in height and figure than the first. Her skin was a light yellow with patches on her right arm.  _ Quintessence Marks _ , thought Allura,  _ she must be a Norok _ . Though the patches didn’t have one singular color as they were supposed to, they were shifting; a mix of yellow, blue, and black. She wore two long sashes over shoulders, bound to her waist by more fabric. It, too, seemed to be shifting in color. Under that appeared to be a brown suit that covered from her chest to as far as the screen showed. She seemed to be holding a pipe of sorts at her side and had a pouch attached to the fabric around her midsection.

 

“Dude, really?” she leaned over the other girl, her arm on the girl’s head. Ileema, Allura assumed that was her name, inspected the paladins. “Dude,” she started, then turned to face the other girl. Grabbing her by the shoulders, she said, “You fuckin’ did it.”

 

Lance let out a laugh at Ileema’s bluntness. They both turned toward the paladins, Ileema bending over so that the paladins could see her face. Ileema had ears pointed like her own but the Norok girl’s were taller than her own head. She, too, had antennae, although they were slightly larger than the other girl’s and their color shifted with her marks. The other girl shifted in her seat.

 

“Sorry,” apologized the dark haired girl. “I’ve-it’s-I’ve never actually gotten my communicators to work.”

 

“That's quite alright,” started Allura, she tried to sound confident even though she had know idea what was going on. “Now, if you would just explain to us who you are and why you’re contacting us.”

 

“Okay, so, hi,” started the yellow-eyed girl.

 

“That sounded stupid,” criticized the larger girl, having turned to face the other girl and letting out soft giggles. “Let me do it.”

 

She cleared her throat. “My name’s Ileema and I just wanna ask if any of you’re half-breeds, like Quinim here,” she said gesturing to the girl next to her, “That’s Quinim, by the way, or ‘ve got somethin’ wonky with your quintessence?”

 

“We do not have any ‘half-breeds’,” Allura responded, hesitant about the situation, “and I am unsure of what you mean by ‘something wonky with our quintessence,’” said Allura. 

 

“Like,” Quinim spoke up, turning sideway to show her right arm with solid green quintessence, “Do you have one color,” she prompted her larger friend to turn as well.“or more than one color?” she concluded, gesturing to Ileema’s multicolored quintessence marks. 

 

Allura looked over the paladins, all of them equally as confused as she was. “I’m afraid I don’t understand-”

 

“I think she means the lions,” said Pidge.

 

The larger girl seemed to consider this for a second, “I mean, kinda?”

 

“You mean is our quintessence compatible with more than one lion?” the green paladin clarified. 

 

“Well, in order to be compatible with more than one lion, I guess you would need to have more than one quintessence type,” Quinim wondered aloud. “So, yeah, that.”

 

“Well, Lance is the only one here who switched lions,” Hunk came out with.

 

“What does me switching lions have to do with anything?” Lance said defensively. 

 

“Okay, so on our planet, we practice with quintessence religiously,” explained Ileema. “And I’ve got this thing called ‘shifting-quintessence disorder’. And that’s where I’ve got more than one quintessence type. Now, the Norok Priests don’t really like that,” her expression grew sour, effectively expressing her distaste. “So, I’ve had so spend my life sneakin’ around tryin’ not to get caught so that I don’t get the life sucked out of me.”

 

“Oh,” Lance said lamely. 

“Is it just me or do you think she’s being serious about the ‘life sucking’ thing,” said Hunk.

 

“I’m being totally serious,” said Ileema, gravely. “Them priests are powerful, they can do shit like that.” 

 

“Okay, well, now I’m terrified,” said Lance. 

Shiro, who had been previously trapped in a conversation with Coran, walked over behind Lance. The black paladin put his human hand on Lance’s shoulder and pulled him gently to face him. “And you have every right to be,” he said, in a calm tone. Allura noticed a faint blush on Lance’s cheeks. 

 

“I would have avoided Norokania if I had known,” said Allura. 

 

“I’m going to out on a limb here and assume you already accepted the invitation,” Quinim said. 

 

“Yeah…” murmured Hunk. 

 

“Wait, if you have, uh, what was it? Something-something disorder?” said Pidge, suspicion lurking in her amber eyes. Now that wasn’t fair; no one should look that pretty when they’re suspicious.

 

“Shifting-quintessence disorder,” corrected Ileema.

 

“Yeah, that, so if you have that, then how are you still alive?” skeptically concluded Pidge.

 

“Not all Noroks agree with the Priests,” responded Ileema cryptically.

 

The paladins exchanged concerned glances. “So, what do you want us to do?” 

 

Quinim raised a finger. “I would suggest leaving the dude in blue on board the castleship.” Ileema nodded in agreement.

 

“How do we know we can trust you?” said Shiro, never leaving Lance’s side. 

“Good question,” said Ileema. Her eyes flicked over to the other, seeming to tempt her partner into answering for her. “Kitten?

 

On her left, Allura heard Hunk whisper, “Kitten?” as she watched Quinim seem to ponder for a tic before letting her shoulders drop.“Do you guys want, like, our location so you can lord it over us or something?” she offered.

Ileema nodded at her friend. “Yeah, if you don’t trust us, y’all could just hand us over to the Capitols,” she agreed. 

 

“That is not necessary,” said Allura, as Pidge said, “We’ll take it.” 

 

Allura and Pidge glared at each other. 

 

“...We’ll just send it over anyways,” Allura heard Quinim say, awkwardly from the screen to the right of her.

 

“I’ll get the transmitter-thing,” said Ileema. Allura heard the rustle of fabric she assumed was the Norok girl straightening her stance from leaning over Quinim’s shoulder and walking over to retrieve the item. 

 

“We’ve gotta get a better name for that,” exasperatedly responded Quinim, almost to herself.

 

Allura continued to glare at Pidge, who was firmly holding their ground. The shorter girl’s face never changing. The silent argument was redundant at this point, with the two girls sending over their location anyway, but Allura was already in too deep. Pidge only moved when Hunk tapped on her shoulder saying that the transmission had been received. A triumphant smirk formed on her lips.  _ Cute _ , thought Allura, grumpily looking away. 

 

Pidge sat down in her chair, leaning forward and opening the notification to view the coordinates. Hunk stood behind her, looking over the green paladin’s shoulder. He was crouched low enough to be somewhat level with the headrest of the chair. Pidge eyes squinted in suspicion at the screen.

 

“I think this is wrong, this says you live in an uninhabitable forest,” Pidge said skeptically.

 

“Nope, that’s right,” reassured the dark-haired girl.

 

Pidge fell back into her seat, her head almost slamming into Hunk’s chin. “How are you living in a forest that is  _ unable to be lived in _ ?”

 

“Actually, it  _ is _ habitable. But people got scared by the--” Quinim paused mid-sentence, her right ear flicking to the side. The two girls head spun around to the window behind them in a fraction of a tic. Even with the dark and grainy video, Allura could clearly see the fear on the girls’ faces. 

 

Allura heard a distorted roar as green flashed across the screen. The video cut out.

 

Silence settled over the paladins. 

 

Lance was the first to speak up, concern very clearly etched across his face. Shiro was still by his side, but not as close as he was before. Allura thought it strange to see Lance’s expression morphed into something so uncomfortable when she had grown accustomed to his obnoxious grin. “Can I just be the first to say, that was very weird.” 

 

Pidge almost looked constipated. “I-no-argh-words,” she said, frustrated by her words, or  _ lack _ of words. The green paladin hunched over and buried her head in her hands.

 

Hunk placed a hand on the shorter paladin’s shoulder. “Take your time,” he said, gently encouraging her. Allura couldn’t help but be slightly jealous of the yellow and green paladin’s bond, but she realized that her glaring at Hunk’s hand was not all that appropriate considering the position they’re in.

 

Pidge took a breath. “I don’t trust them; they seem shifty,” she concluded. 

 

“Yes, I agree,” started Allura. “I can understand what you mean. There is no definite way to prove the two girls are lying. But, if they are not, then there is one of our lives on the line.”

 

“Yeah!” Lance piped up. “I don’t know about you guys but I don’t really want to find out what ‘sucking the life out of me’ feels like!” His voice cracked with his words. Lance was genuinely fearful for his life, Allura realized.

 

“Also,” Hunk piped in. “Can we talk about how sketchy the video cut out? It gave me chills.” He shivered for emphasis.

 

“Indeed, I was feeling like I’d just watched a Kazairlysilcquec capture a burricbawlnaquit,” said Coran. Hunk gave him a look of confusion, while Allura nodded. She had once witnessed a Kazairlysilcquec do that when she was a small girl and it was terrifying. She remembers not being able to sleep for quintants.

 

“Yes, that was a bit...unnerving,” agreed Allura.

 

“So, what do we do?” asked Pidge. The short paladin looked up at her, her chin rested on her hands. Allura felt unsure. She had already accepted the invitation from the Norok Priest and she felt that it would result in something catastrophic if she canceled now. 

 

She opened her mouth to speak, but Shiro beat her to it. Which was good because she had actually no idea what she was going to say. 

 

“We’ll do what they suggested,” the black paladin started. He glanced to his right, at Lance. “Lance, you’ll stay onboard the Castleship. I know it’s not ideal, and I know you’ll probably be bored without us, but Coran will stay here with you-”

 

“Actually,” Pidge interrupted, sounding apologetic, “I think Coran would be the most useful with us, planetside.” 

 

“Uh, why?” asked Hunk.

 

“Well, I mean, the Norok people are expecting the Five Paladins of Voltron, not four young adults in cool space armor,” reasoned Pidge. Her glasses had drifted down her nose a little and Allura was tempted to push them back up for her.  _ Ugh. Pidge needs to stop being cute all the time because it’s ruining the atmosphere of the conversation. Go for a walk or something, gay thoughts, there is something very serious going on here.  _

 

Coran stepped up, flattered that he could be useful. “As great as it sounds, I doubt the Noroks wouldn’t notice my lack of red quintessence. I’m more of a blue, myself,” he said. 

 

“Yes that might be a problem,” continued Allura, desperately trying to come up with a plan. 

 

Once again, Shiro came to the rescue. “Then we will just stick to my plan,” he started, taking on a confident stance. “Lance and Coran will stay onboard while the rest of us go negotiate with the Noroks.” The black paladin turned back to Lance, who was dejectedly staring at the floor. Shiro’s features softened as he sympathized for his teammate. “Sorry cadet, it’s for your own safety. Going planetside with you is too much of a risk,” he paused, taking Lance’s hands, “A risk I’m not willing to take.” Allura smirked when Pidge whispered, “Gaaaaaay.” Hunk was trying (and failing) to conceal his laughter, which was, in itself, very funny and caused Allura stifle a few giggles that threatened to escape, while Coran met her eyes with a confused look on his face. She mouthed “paladin thing” to him and he nodded in understanding.

 

Allura clapped her hands together, smiling triumphantly. “So, it’s decided then; Lance will stay onboard with Coran, while the rest of us stay at the Capitol Temple to negotiate with the Norok Priests,” she summarized. She looked around the room to see the paladins nodding in agreement, albeit nervously. Allura hoped that her own anxiety wasn’t visible to her teammates. And she prayed to whatever god that would listen that this mission would run smoothly. Although, the chance of her silent prayers being answered was increasingly slim with every new tidbit of information the paladins learned. Why couldn’t things ever just be as they seem?


	3. Born Seeing Red

Being a Norok High Priest heir was a lot more difficult than others would think. Sure, she got to live in the most extravagant temple in the entire Erani Quadrant, but she never got to truly appreciate the astounding architecture and decor that it had. She was always busy with something or other. She didn’t even want to be the High Priestess! And yet here she was, practicing her useless talent of standing perfectly still for hours on end, posing on a pedestal for another painting. 

 

Her eyes flicked over to the artist, some lowly five from the Orcahsay District. He seemed dedicated to his work, and she could respect that. Giving yourself to the thing you love took a large amount of courage and passion, both of which she didn’t have anymore. Not since Noroma. Noroma was quite literally her sole reason she had put up with all of this. “This” being the constant pressure to be great and near crippling anxiety gained from her mother as well as the beating and feeling of worthlessness she received from her father. Seeing Noroma was the one thing she had looked forward to in her day. 

 

She could feel a frown starting to form on her face, which usually happens when she thought of her past maid. No later than when she, herself, noticed the pout forming on her lips did her mother snap, causing her eyes to flick to the sovereign. Her mother leveled her with an expression that she had come to understand meant “don’t mess up.” She schooled her face into something more powerful and emotionless. 

 

Her mother didn’t know about her relationship with the maid. Even if her mother did, she doesn’t think she would receive any comfort from her. She already had her life planned out for her; finish training, take her father’s place, rule, get a mate, get a young one, train them to rule while ruling some more. There was no room for love. Well, technically, there was but it had already been served to her. Now? She was broken, lonely, and loveless. She was left with only the memories of happiness to go by. Her memories with Noroma were what kept her sane. They made her feel an emotion that can only be described as bittersweet. It affected the staff, as well. When Noroma was around, she found herself smiling and laughing. She would play games and tell jokes. Not anymore, though. 

 

The painter straightened his back, accessing his work. He nodded, satisfied. She watched as his eyes summoned her mother for approval. Her mother stalked over to the painter. The painter visibly grew more terrified as she came closer. She could see her mother’s eyes rake over the painting. There was a moment of silence before her mother hummed. 

 

“You may return to your studies, Enimsa,” she said in her usual, unfeeling voice, her eyes never leaving the painting.

 

“Yes, mother,” she responded, stepping off of the pedestal and heading toward the door. As she stepped out of the room, she heard the sound of cerkach coins clinking against one another. The heir assumed it was his payment for the painting. She let out a large breath as she closed the entryway. If this were a moon ago, she would have met Noroma in her study. The quirky maid would have kissed her cheek and they would find something to waste the time away with. Enimsa might try to read her maid a book that she thought Noroma might enjoy, but her attempts proved futile as her lover did everything she could to distract her. The heir felt a certain wetness in her eye. A wetness that she had trained herself not to produce. Of course thinking of Noroma would be the exception, she always was. The dark-haired priest knew she had to hide, for an emotional outburst was inevitable. Enimsa sped up her pace as she trekked down the hall leading to her study. 

 

She passed maids carrying laundry as well as some lighting the candles in preparation for the night. Enimsa didn’t realize she was running until the pillars lining the hall started to blur together. She felt the increasing beats of her hearts pound through her body. 

 

Her hands flew to the handles of the doors to her study. She swung open the doors and threw herself inside. Enimsa hurried to her desk. She vaulted over it and swung around to get under the desk. Enimsa was hiding in the alcove of the desk where legs were meant to go, but she didn’t care. Her breathing was erratic and her hearts beated faster than they should. Enimsa tried to calm down, she had to pull herself together. She took a deep breath. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. And for the first time in twelve cycles, she let the tears forming in her eye fall. _All of this for one maid?_ an evil in her mind scolded. _No_ , she retorted, holding onto sobs caught in her throat. _She was more than just a maid, and you know it_. If her enemy was a physical thing, she might have glared at it. Although she doubted it would have the same effect with the puffy face she was sporting.

 

Enimsa fell asleep like that, under the desk and crying. She only woke up at a knock on her door. Groggily, she pushed herself out from under the desk and stood up, only to immediately feel pin and needles in her legs from sleeping on them. Her hands reached for her eyes to rub the sleep away, but thought better of it. The left eye was wet, while the other was completely dry (when she was little, an injury to her right eye caused damage to her tear glands; now, she cannot cry out of that eye). She wiped away the drying tears from her cheek. 

 

She walked over to the door, opening it to see who was calling. Unsurprisingly, it was her coordinator, Soderavox. 

 

“It is time for your segment, Apprenticed,” they explained, looking as solemn as usual. “I am here to escort you to the station.”

 

They held out their arm for her to hold. Soderavox knew she wouldn’t take it, she never did, but Enimsa did appreciate it, even though they were just being polite. The two made their way to the entrance of the temple and walked across the temple’s famous, year-around gardens to a pod. The pod they were heading to was different than her usual pod. Her pod had jewels and a gold trim, this pod lacked both and had their news station’s logo almost completely covering the vehicle. Soderavox slid open the door to the pod and held out their hand for Enimsa to use to balance her on her way inside. Enimsa did take their hand that time, causing the coordinator to raise their eyebrows in surprise. 

 

Once Enimsa and Soderavox were sat safely in the pod, Enimsa took to resting her head on her arm to look out on the planet that was soon to be “hers.” That was until her coordinator meaningfully clear their throat. Enimsa looked over to Soderavox, not moving anything but her eyes. Soderavox pointed to their right cheek. Enimsa furrowed her brows in confusion, why were they pointing to their cheek? Was something on  _ her _ cheek? She hadn’t eaten anything that day, so there couldn’t be food on her cheek. Or maybe...Enimsa’s eyes widened in fear and pulled out her paint kit. She opened the compact and glared into the small mirror. It wasn’t that something was on her cheek, but something had come off of her cheek. She quickly rubbed the grey paint over the track her tears had made on her cheek. 

She returned her gaze to her coordinator with a pained expression. Enimsa had the unfortunate problem of being of the wrong quintessence. Instead of the black she was supposed to have for her position as High Priestess, Enimsa was born with a fiery red. Which is why ever since she can remember, the first thing she did in the morning was get painted the right colors. No one was allowed to know her secret and stay alive, excluding the painters and her parents. Soderavox returned her stare with an understanding look.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, weakly. 

 

“I know,” responded Soderavox.

 

The two remained in silence for the rest of the ride. 

 

With nothing else to talk about, Enimsa delved into her inner thoughts. These days, her inner thoughts consisted of plotting her escape from this prison she lives in. She had everything planned out to the point of perfection, except for how she would get off-world. There was no guarantee that she could get a ship to take her. There was too much uncertainty. But did she care? Not really. Blame her red quintessence for that. If she had black quintessence like she was supposed to have, she might have been at least a little worried about what could happen. But, nope, she was fiery, impulsive, reckless, and not afraid to die. 

 

Enimsa was staring out the window, not entirely paying attention to her surroundings. She did, however, notice the sharp stop the pod came to when the pair arrived at the station. It jostled her only slightly, but it was enough to force her back to her senses. 

 

Soderavox was the first to exit the pod, as usual, and offer silently to help the heir to the studio. While their general interactions before the ride were awkward and stiff, the walk into the studio for the interview somehow managed to top the previous in being uncomfortable. Enimsa focused on the sound of the soft padding of her bare feet on the carpeted pathway to quell the growing anxiety in her stomach. Her coordinator walked solemnly beside her. Enimsa focused on the reporter, sitting on a orange and modern loveseat. Enimsa didn’t find it very attractive. 

 

The interviewer had his legs crossed and a notepad in his lap, the pen in hand ready. His garments matched his green quintessence. What Enimsa guessed was his assistant tapped on his shoulder to let him know her arrival. The newscaster stood immediately and turned toward the heir. Like most of the Norok citizens, he was a good two bexours taller than Enimsa. Not because the priests were short, Enimsa was the short one. She was the smallest Norok Priest of fifteen cycles in all recorded history. Which, you know, was bullshit.

 

The reporter was smiling, although it seemed fake and didn’t quite reach his eyes. He stuck out his hand, palm up, in greeting.

 

“Quovain,” he introduced, shifting his notepad and pen to his side. “Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Apprenticed.”

 

Enimsa placed both of her thumbs on Quovain's extended palm. “Likewise,” she responded. Enimsa didn’t quite know how to interact with the citizens, but she hoped a warm tone in her voice made her more appealing in the interviewer’s eyes. She was required to play benevolent heir in these interviews. Image was everything. 

 

Quovain's hand retreated to his pen as Enimsa was directed to sit across from him. Enimsa noticed the many notes already on the page, and she assumed they were questions. The Norok interviewer took a glance at his page, as if to reassure himself of what he was going to ask, then looked back up to make eye-contact with the Apprenticed High Priestess. Quovain gave her a warm smile and proceeded to signal the Norok to start recording. A flash of red danced around the room as they started recording.

 

Quovain looked into the camera and started his segment. “Good evening, Noroks!” he started, sounding as chipper as the waking avei that liked to annoy Enimsa until she, too, was awake. “Today, I have with me the famed Apprenticed High Priestess, live, for an exclusive interview!” He turned his attention toward Enimsa, smiling socially. “I have some questions I’ve been practically dying to ask, and I’m sure everyone watching agrees.”

 

When Enimsa nodded, Quovain continued, “So, you’re the next High Priestess! The person that’s going to take over our system after High Priest Torzeioksy joins the garden of Asedesa. I’m sure training to ascend your father is no simple task.” 

 

_ Damn right it’s not, _ Enimsa thinks. “You are quite right. My training is intensive, but I push through. I have a duty to my people to fulfil, after all. When I think about quitting, just giving up all that I’ve learned, I think about the people I must lead in the future; they make it worthwhile,” the Apprenticed lied. The people can burn for all she cares. Enimsa just wants to get the hell off of this gods-forsaken planet. 

 

“Glad to know we’re getting such a dedicated leader!” replied Quovain. “Let’s talk more about that, how do you feel about your training, how far along are you?”

Enimsa shifted in her seat. “I’m sorry but that’s classified information. The less our enemies know about our strength, the better,” she responded with fake lightheartedness. 

 

“Is that a military strategy?”

 

“Yes,” answered Enimsa, internally debating on whether she should continue speaking of their military strategy. She decided against it, for fear of her mother’s wrath. “That is all I am allowed to say.”

 

The reporter hummed, “I see. Speaking of military strategy, there are rumors going around about planning on reforming an alliance with Voltron, is that true?”

 

The topic of Voltron was something she was actually prepared to talk about. She answered, readily, “Yes, to our knowledge, Voltron’s beliefs match well with our own and it doesn’t hurt that they have a reputation in defeating Galra ships.”

 

Quovain laughed at the last remark. 

 

“Could you, perhaps, enhance our knowledge of this alliance? Is there a specific thing holding you back from saying we’ve joined the Voltron Coalition right now rather than negotiate? Also, when can we expect the Legendary Defender to visit us?”

 

“Well, my fellow officials at Capitol Temple thought it best to keep the possible alliance with Voltron quiet,” Enimsa started, sounding well-informed of the matter. “You see, we wanted to do a little bit of research before we decided whether or not joining would be the best for our quadrant. However, our resources were heavily biased and our research ended up being inconclusive. HQC thought that meeting the Paladins of Voltron in person would be the best course of action, and we plan on inviting them at noon tomorrow.”

 

“Ooh, sounds exciting!”

 

“It is.” Enimsa moved her hands from her side and put them in her lap.

 

Quovain turned from the Apprenticed High Priestess to face the large camera. “Well, there you have it folks! What civilians are calling the ‘Voltron Rumor’ has been confirmed.” A woman from behind the camera points to a ticker to her left, signaling the time for a commercial break. “We’ll delve deeper into Apprenticed High Priestess Enimsa life after a few messages from our sponsors! Stay tuned,” the news reporter concluded with a flourish. 

 

He and Enimsa smiled at the camera for a moment before the same woman from behind the camera said, “And, we’re out.”

 

Seeming to have been waiting for his cue, Soderavox almost instantly walked over and offered glasses of yunea on a platter to her and Quovain. Yunea juice was actually quite rare in the district this News Station was and being offered a glass mildly surprised her. She hid her surprise well behind an emotionless expression as she took the glass to leisurely sip. The reporter, however, let his emotions show freely and almost greedily grabbed the gold-colored drink. Soderavox made their signature eyebrow raise that they did whenever someone did something questionable. In that moment, Quovain seemed to remember his place and schooled his appearance into something more dignified. He nodded in thanks and took a sip. 

 

“Is there anything else you might desire from me, Apprenticed?” they asked.

 

“No,” she responded quickly, “You are free to do as you please, Soderavox.” Soderavox nodded at this and returned to conversing with the stage hands. 

 

“Before we come back from commercials,” started Quovain, having downed all of the yunea given to him. Enimsa was still sipping on her own glass, trying to savour the flavor. “I have some more interview questions that I want to make sure you’re comfortable with.”

 

“Like what?” asked the heir, genuinely curious.

 

“Well, a week earlier we sent out a survey to our viewers, asking what they wanted to know about their future High Priestess. I wrote down the top three most popular ones on this notepad,” he paused to show Enimsa what he had written down. 

 

His handwriting was surprisingly neat, considering the hurried fashion it was written in. The first was a question Quovain had already asked her at the beginning of the show. Apparently, the people were very curious about her training. Her eyes trailed down to the next two questions. Upon seeing the writing, Enimsa gaped. Her eyes widened with astonishment. The scandalized apprentice looked back up to Quovain to see him already looking at her, a nervous smile on his mouth. 

 

The second question of the three wasn’t the problem, but the third made her incredibly uncomfortable. She sat back on the loveseat adjacent to the reporter, resting her hand over her eyes, and sighed. It didn’t make sense to her; why would her people be interested in her love life? Why should it matter to them what goes on behind closed doors?  _ Do I have a love interest _ , she scoffed, internally. The apprentice took a deep breath in. She listened to the anxious tapping of the interview’s foot and exhaled. 

 

“I refuse to answer that third question,” she started, slowly. “However, I have no problem with the second.”

 

“Okay, good because we’re going live again in five, four, three…” he responded, brightly. 

 

Again, the red light flowed throughout the room, signalling what they were about to do. 

 

“Welcome back folks!” announced Quovain, sporting his usual bravado. “Before our break, I asked a couple questions to the lovely, Enimsa, and now she will answer one of the most asked question  _ you _ sent in!”

 

He turned away from the camera to face Enimsa. “Our most asked question is about your daily life, so if you could give us a gist of what happens day to day in Capitol Temple that would be great,” he explained.

 

“Well, I usually wake up with the sun to train for the ‘priest’ part of my position with my father. We usually can be found doing that until noon or so,” she said.

 

“No breakfast?” joked the interviewer.

 

_ What the hell is a breakfast? _ “Break...fast?”

 

Quovain laughed, as if her asking was some sort of joke.

 

The interview continued on like that. In the end, Enimsa learned more about her people than her people did about her. She came back to the temple enlightened about what was called “pop culture.” The heir spent the rest of her day blindly fulfilling her duties, her attention elsewhere. Enimsa only returned to her body when she was informed by her new coordinator, whose name she didn’t know yet, that she was required to oversee the transmission to Voltron. 

 

The coordinator led her to a room that the painted heir didn’t recognize. Several priests were already gathered in circle to the side of the room, while the film crew was working on the camera in the center of the room. The priests looked like they were...playing...stone, tablet, hedge-clipper? What…?

 

Suddenly, the priests were in various states of relief. Except for one. Priest Burec, if she remembered correctly, had an expression that could have been on a prisoner with a death penalty. Enimsa cleared her throat. As soon the Apprenticed High Priest’s presence was known, the priests lined up as if she wouldn’t notice what they were doing just tics before. Enimsa uncharacteristically raised an eyebrow. 

 

There was an uncomfortable silence as the young apprentice considered the priests, questioningly. Said priests looked in varying shades of  “about to break out in a nervous sweat.” It was almost funny. This silence was then broken by the middle-aged priest who had lost their game only moments before. 

 

“I have been volunteered to speak for our system,” Priest Burec droned, sounding like that of someone who sincerely did not want to leave their room that morning. Enimsa could definitely relate. She nodded in approval and was directed to sit out of view of the communications device. The dark-haired apprentice rested her elbow on the armrest and crossed her leg over the other, lazily. She didn’t even try to focus on the recording, choosing to take in the scene around her.  

 

Enimsa was aware that she was not the most inviting person to be around, however it seemed more prominent in this tiny room. She saw the way the other priests side-eyed her apprehensively, the way they shifted their weight from on foot to the other. Their behavior around her queued her in to a poorly kept secret; she was terrifying. If she was being honest it was somewhat empowering. Enimsa couldn’t bring herself to be offended knowing that if she tapped a priest on the shoulder, they would jump in fear.

 

The apprentice found herself smirking at the thought, then immediately schooled her face into something more emotionless. For a while she had been content with that staff avoiding her. She had convinced herself that this solitude was her choice and that she wanted this way. The apprenticed hadn’t realized what she was missing until Noroma was assigned to her. Noroma wasn’t scared of Enimsa’s capabilities. Somehow, the maid wasn’t concerned by Enimsa’s growing ability to, quite literally,  _ suck the soul out of someone. _ No, instead Noroma decided to befriend her. Enimsa was proud to say Noroma was her first, and only, friend. That friendship soon blossomed into something so much more.    
  


A subtle shift from the corner of her eye alerted to her the request to contact Voltron’s castle of lions was pending. Priest Burec stood stiffly, waiting for Voltron to answer. A pleasant ring sounded from the device, letting everyone in the room know their request had been accepted. 

 

“Greetings, I am Priest Burec of Norokania,” he announced, eyes flitting to Enimsa for a brief second. “I have called as a spokesman for my planet. We would like to join your new Voltron Coalition and invite the paladins to Capital Temple to rest if they so wish it.”

 

“We would love to negotiate the Voltron Coalition with your people. If you could, send us the coordinates for your landing site. My fellow paladins and I would be delighted to take a rest on your planet.”

 

Okay, the Princess seemed cheery, that was good. Maybe this would work out. Hopefully this would go smoothly and the Noroks would have some protection against the Galra Empire. Enimsa nodded to Priest Burec.

 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he concluded, bowing to the communicator. The link dispersed. 

 

“We’re out!” the communication specialist shouted. Enimsa stood from the chair she was sitting in and made her way to the bulky machine. A Green female Norok servant was manning it, pressing buttons that the apprentice could only dream of understanding. The black-hair apprentice stood beside the Green, watching, for a tic. Enimsa wished she could simply begin to understand what was happening inside the Green’s brain. She then turned to the room.

 

“Someone send the coordinates,” she announced, loudly, startling the Green she had been watching earlier. Enimsa smirked, slightly. “If I am needed, you will find me in the Training Course.”

 

With that, the apprentice left the room, praying to Akiryula that the sinking feeling in her stomach wasn’t about this negotiation.


	4. Start the Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, several months late with a 4000 word chapter with only ocs: what did i miss

Quinim slumped against her chair, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The past sixteen hours were spent building a device that would allow the Galra-hybrid and her friend to warn the Voltron paladins. Aklan busting in through the window had been the icing on the cake. The wild, green lion ended up knocking over the device, both ending the call and breaking the device that Quinim had just finished. Ileema, in her doped-out state, had decided holding a funeral for the short-lived communications device would be the best option afterward. Needless to say, the yellow-eyed girl had spent the “funeral” glaring daggers at the lion, who had the decency to look the least bit ashamed. Her brain was all but mush at this point, now all she wanted to do was take a nap. A well-deserved nap at that!

The dark-haired girl’s eyelids dropped shut. She tried opening them again but soon found that she lacked the energy to do so. Distanly, Quinim heard Ileema’s pipe burning yet another round of tok. That girl really had a problem. With a cloud of tiredness slowly descending upon her, she let her worries slip away. 

Quinim’s dreams were decidedly strange. From voids of nothing but glass avei, to fields of technologically produced qui, her dreams were definitely weird. However, they are dreams, so they are enjoyable. This particular dream featured a lovely scene; a field of grass and assorted flowers, blue-tinted mountains in the distance. A soft morning breeze brushed against the meadow. The sun, just picking itself up from the horizon, lay a delicate light across the landscape. The whole scene was incredibly peaceful. 

Without regarding her need for sleep, Dream-Quinim suddenly started falling, but landed on something large and squishy. The large-eared girl blearily opened her eyes to find herself in Ileema’s lap. Ileema seemed to not care, showing no outward opinion on the matter. Seeing this, Quinim decided going back to sleep was the best idea right now. The tired girl shifts in her friend’s lap in order to get more comfortable. 

Just as sleep was about to claim her once again, Ileema spoke, “Ya know how Voltron’s comin’ to negotiate er whatever with them priests?” Quinim hummed affirmatively. “Do ya think we could, like, sneak onto their castleship an’ escape?” The girl was high as an avei could fly, slurring her words accordingly. The Ainiriv accent almost painfully distorting her words, making it increasingly difficult for Quinim to understand her friend in her sleepy state. She simply responded, “Maybe.” 

It was now that Aklan had seemingly decided to crawl over from the corner the beast was previously laying in. The green lion forced herself on Ileema’s already taken lap. Miraculously, both Quinim and Aklan fit, albeit awkwardly. Ileema started to pet Aklan tenderly. “But seriously,” the yellow skinned girl continued, “I’m pretty sure the ship-castle-whatever runs on quint-quiant-quientec-quinte-shit. That means the p‘ssengers are pretty much invibull to de scan.”

Quinim lifted her body to look the, just, utterly intoxicated Norok girl in the eye. While Ileema’s were unfocused, Quinim’s eyes were wide, understanding the train of thought her friend was on. Feeling awake and more hopeful than she ever had, the purple-spotted girl hugged the pale yellow friend, making happy noises and nuzzling her cheek. Aklan was ripped away from the rhythmic strokes from Ileema’s hand on her head in the process. However, Quinim could barely hear her feline friend’s growls of protest behind her own jumbled squeals of pure delight. 

“Wa-wait,” Ileema slurred, taking Quinim by the underarms and placing her back on her lap. Lazily quirking her brow, the large-eared girl continued, “high-me actually has a good ‘dea?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” 

Aklan purred in agreement. 

Getting up from where she was sat in Ileema’s lap, Quinim set her sight on the cloaks hanging half-heartedly on the tool shelf. Ileema and she could hide themselves with the cloaks. Although, the hood of the cloak could only cover so much. Her gold, calculative eyes flicked over to the masks jutting out of their junk drawer. If they made a disguise using the cloak and the painted masks, then there was a good chance the two would be able to make their way toward the Castle of Lions without raising too much suspicion. Glancing over at the disgruntled lion, Quinim realized they would have to smuggle Aklan with them. The half-Galran girl thought of a gold chain, probably in need of untangling, sitting in yet another box of seemingly useless junk. 

Picking up both of the masks, the green-quintessenced girl called over to Ileema in her tok induced stupor, “You want the one from Nalquod or the Elrani inspired mask from that movie we saw?”

When all that Ileema responded with was indiscernible babbling that probably had something to do with the lion that was back in her lap, Quinim figured that the decision making would be left to her. Seeing as Ileema was a little less than lucid, the hybrid tried to pick between the two masks, which proved to not be as difficult as she first thought. The mask from Nalquod was significantly prettier than the movie inspired one, which look cheap and bright in a way that made it look childish. Yep, that would be the mask she would give to Ileema. 

Thinking back to the gold chain, Quinim jumped over Ileema and Aklan, who were no longer sitting upright. Instead choosing to lay face down on the wood plank floor, Aklan nuzzling the other’s pale yellow shoulder. Quinim fought the urge to coo at the two of them. The green-quintessenced girl started to search for the gold chain she was almost positive hadn’t been moved since the last time she had seen it, pulling out the partially open drawers to look. 

“Found you!” she cried, with an unreasonable amount of excitement. Quinim was suddenly grateful for the lack of Ileema’s common sense in that moment, or else she would have undoubtedly received a teasing grin. The galra-hybrid grabbed the chain and held it in her hands, pulling it to test its strength. Yeah, this would probably work. 

“-NOODLE KING’S NOODLES, WHAT’S OURS TO MAKE IS YOURS TO EAT!”

Quinim nearly jumped out of her skin at the ad’s shouts. “WHAT THE SHIT?!” she screamed in reply to the advertisement’s shouting. Aklan growled loudly and Ileema groaned, a response that was equal to Quinim’s exclamation. Why did the broadcast receptor just randomly turn on? 

“Welcome back to Norok’s Daily Report! I’m your host Turnvawol Akiorni with an update on the Alliance of our planet with the Legendary Defenders of the universe; Voltron,” said the reporter through the speakers. It brought Quinim’s attention from the item in hand to the broadcast. 

“Our scanners show us that the Castle of Lions is just beyond the Quavinian asteroid belt. According to our station’s mathematician, Team Voltron shall arrive here in just thirty dobashes! Get excited Noroks, the universal savior is coming to visit Norokania, planet of the Pearl Mountains!” 

“Oh, sweet, we got thirty dobashes,” said Quinim. She looked back at her friend on the floor. “You hear that? Thirty dobashes!” the yellow-eyed girl shouted at the other. When all she received in reply was a groan that could have been a sentence, Quinim sighed, “If you don’t get up, I’m getting the mint!” 

Quinim’s acute hearing picked up a “I think the fuck not” from her friend as Ileema jumped up from the floor. Smirking as Ileema wobbled and proceeded to fall back on the floor, Quinim sought after the mint. “Dude, you can’t even stand up for a second,” the lavender-spotted girl said pityingly at the lump on the floor that was her friend. “I’m getting the mint.”

“Nooo…” protested Ileema, haphazardly rolling to Aklan, who stopped the intoxicated Norok with a condoling paw.

“Sugar, if we’re going to get off this damn planet, I need you to be able to scare people off with your hulking mass of a body.”

“I can do tha’ like thi’ toooo!”

“Sure you can!” exclaimed Quinim sarcastically. “There is nothing more terrifying than a cloaked person wobbling around like a quia on stilts!” She threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. 

“-alright folks! We’re putting up a countdown to Voltron’s arrival on the corner of your screens so that you all can get ready. Right now, there is roughly twenty dobashes until Voltron gets here-”

Huh, forgot that was on. Quinim dragged a hand down her face, slightly scratching her skin. The fluffy-eared girl snatched the mint jar from its place in the cabinet, forcefully tore off the lid, and shoved her hand into the jar. She pulled out a mint leaf, a determined glint in her already glowing eyes, and shoved in Ileema’s mouth, despite the girl’s protests. 

Almost instantly, Ileema was standing rim-rod straight with faint tears in her eyes. Not because she was sad or in pain, mint just made her face do that. Which is why the taller girl hated the plant so much. It repeatedly made her mouth water, eyes sting, and gave her nose that feeling you get right before you sneeze. Although Ileema despised it, mint was the only sure-fire “cure” for Ileema’s perpetual laziness. 

“Why,” the multi-quintessenced girl groaned, faintly. Her eyes donning a hilarious amount of an emotion close to grief, Ileema fixed the headband that had shifted slightly too far back and glared at Quinim, who was muting the broadcast receptor. 

“See? Now that is a ‘don’t fuck with me’ glare!” Quinim pointed out in a purposefully chipper tone. Ileema glared harder a forced frown on her lips, Quinim’s golden eyes could tell the other was trying her best not to laugh or grin. She glanced over at the countdown the news show had. Only fifteen dobashes until contact. The purple-freckled girl took in a sharp breath.

“Put these on,” she said as she threw both the mask and the cloak at Ileema. The items hit the larger girl smack in the face, causing her to wobble. The sight of an astonished Ileema caused her to break out in laughter, half-heartedly apologizing all the while. Ileema ended up laughing in confusion, slipping the mask past her ears and over her face. Quinim followed the action, quickly noticing the limited field of vision. The galra-hybrid threw the cloak over her shoulder and pinned the clasps together at a speed that left her mildly surprised that she was the one who did that. 

Quinim watched as Ileema did the same with a slightly more theatrical flair. 

“I have no idea how that looked, but I felt cool as shit,” the now cloaked Norok said, her own amazement evident. The girl wearing the Nalquod mask snorted at the unexpected comment. Noticing Ileema smirk at her reaction, she responded with a one-liner-esk phrase of her own, “I can already tell this is going to be fun.” Ileema giggled.

Quinim picked up the golden chain, that she hadn’t realized she dropped. Huh. Ileema stared at it with a raised eyebrow. “What in the hell is that for?” said Ileema, cheekily. Why? Quinim didn’t know. Ileema was constantly making innuendos that flew over her head. She assumed this was one of those times. 

“This is the only way I can think of transporting Aklan around without seeming suspicious,” she responded, choosing to ignore Ileema’s comment. 

“What, so we’re just going to walk her around the city like some domestic?” Ileema said, a little disbelieving. 

Quinim shrugged tensely. “There’s not really much else we could disguise her as,” she pointed out, gesturing to the lion at their feet. Aklan was looking intensely at the two of them. Quinim got the distinct feeling that look meant something along the lines of, “Bitch, I swear if you leave me I will find you and tear out your throat and feed it to the avei.” Or something like that. 

“So, this is our only option?” the girl wearing the Elrani-inspired mask asked.

“It’s the only one I can think of, right now, so we’re going to go with it,” answer Quinim firmly. With a quick glance at the Norok Daily Report’s timer, now saying twelve dobashes, she threw the chain around Aklan’s neck and clipped it to another link far enough away from the lion’s neck that she wouldn’t choke. Aklan, surprisingly, played along and sat obediently still while Quinim secured the chain. 

“Oh so now you’re still?” criticized Ileema, flabbergasted. Quinim raised her eyebrow at her friend, even though she couldn’t see the expression. She could tell Ileema was gearing up for one of her mumble-rants that would carry on for an hour. Usually, the lavender-skinned girl would offer up her ears to pet in condolence, but they were on a tight schedule. Probably.

“Tunnels now, rants later,” she interrupted.

Ileema raised her hands in defeat, although her twitching eyebrow alluded anything but. Quinim tugged on Aklan’s chain, seeing if it was sturdy enough. She stood up satisfied after letting go of the chain. Setting herself for a launch, the Galran-hybrid jumped out the window. 

Sure it was flashy, but there’s nothing better than the fleeting feeling of being airborne. Quinim smiled as the air whipped by her ears. The feeling was short-lived, however. She landed with a thud, feeling the dirt spread beneath her feet. 

Noticing the Nalquod mask shifted over her eyes, Quinim grabbed the edges and moved it back on to her face. She felt Aklan nuzzling into the side of her thigh. The lion must have followed her out the window. The two waited for Ileema, looking up at the window they had jumped out of. When she did not follow in suit, Quinim held her hand to call out to her. However, the words died in her throat as she heard the squeaking of the entrance door. Ileema followed the two in a significantly less dramatic way, choosing to use the ladder. Which, admittedly, was a safer path considering the Norok girl was still feeling the effects of the tok she had been smoking. 

Quinim ran up to Ileema and grabbed her arm. “What was taking you so long?” she demanded, overly aware of the time. Ileema frowned, “First off all, you left the fuckin’ broadcast receptor on, so I had to turn that shit off.” Shit. She did do that. “But that would have only taken a tic to just flip the switch,” Quinim interrupted. Ileema gave her an unimpressed look. “I wasn’t finished yet,” she quipped. “This one,” she muttered, before explaining herself. “I left a note for Yerac. I figure it’d be weird if neither of us were there for the next drop-off, so I left him a note tellin’ him about what happens.” 

“Damn, that’s actually smart,” Quinim said after a beat. “It’s a wonder I hadn’t thought of it first.” 

“I take offense to that,” the taller grumbled before straightening (hah) her back to stand with pride as she continued proudly, “Also included the destination and asked for him to meet us there.”

“Okay, cool, now, let’s go!”

The pale yellow friend let out a grunt of surprise as Quinim grabbed her arm and proceeded to sprint towards the tunnels, Aklan hot on their tail with the loud clanking of the chains. They pushed through the trees, branches flipping madly. She could hear Ileema’s poor stamina already making itself known in her ragged panting. 

“Fuck!” her friend exclaimed, although it sounded strained. “Slow the fuck down, you cunt!” 

Quinim stopped and turned to face Ileema. Her large friend had spun the mask so that the string holding it up was around her neck and the actual mask part was on the back of her head. The cloak that she donned was lopsided so it only covered half of her body. Even in the shadow of the forest, Quinim could see the red of effort painted on her face, its deepest color rooting from her cheeks. “Bitch,” Quinim said softly, with feeling. Said bitch was raising her arms over head, attempting to calm down her shit breathing ability. 

“Bitch? Me?” Ileema shrieked, driving her hand into her chest for emphasis. “You know-you know da-damn well I can’t sprint-sprint for shit!” She attempted to say, her large gasps of breath causing her to stutter.

“Stop whining,” Quinim responded. Ileema shot her a pained look of a mix of shock, astonishment, and betrayal. “We have to go. You can have Aklan to comfort you.” 

With that, Quinim continued on to the tunnel entrance that was now in sight. From behind her, she heard Ileema mutter something unintelligible to the green lion at her side. Huh. Ileema actually took her advice. Quinim had actually forgotten that not everybody had stamina like hers while sprinting with her larger friend. Having been reminded, she did take Ileema’s weak lungs into consideration and decided to walk instead of sprint. 

The dark shadows of the looming, yet familiar, entrance tunnel offered solace from the now rising sun. 

Damn. That was downright poetic. If only she would remember the thought long enough to write it down. 

She turned to face Ileema and Aklan. The larger seemed to be having an intense argument, her hands waving madly. The hushed tones of her one-side debate visibly caused the lion pacing next to her a great deal of annoyance. Her speculation proved to be true when Quinim’s superior hearing caught the soft growl emitting from the depths of the lion’s throat. 

The half-galra’s ears twitched in annoyance. “Okay, look,” she said, bringing her hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry for making you exercise, can we please just continue down the tunnels?” 

Ileema paused. She glared at Quinim. If looks could kill… Quinim found herself standing up a little straighter. Aklan walked by, completely unfazed, into the tunnel entrance. Ileema followed the lion, somehow still retaining eye-contact until Quinim was completely behind her. 

“Oh-kay, then,” the lavender-spotted girl said under her breath. She sped up to walk beside Ileema. As they passed the last beam of natural light and let the dark of the tunnel envelope them, Quinim blinked her yellow-glowing eyes to help them adjust to her new surroundings. Quinim stepped with blind confidence while Ileema padded unsurely beside her. She could see Ileema’s leg brushing against Aklan every few seconds to guide her. Unfortunately, Ileema’s eyes lacked the ability to see as well in the dark as Aklan and Quinim’s could. Meaning, Quinim and Aklan would have to help her whenever they passed through here. 

They trekked in relative silence, the only sound being the chains Aklan dragged in the dirt. Not because there was no conversation to be had, no, it was from the fear of what else might be down in the tunnels with them. It would be no surprise for them to find a wild animal had made its home in these tunnels. However, dangerous creatures weren’t the only thing to be afraid of. 

Only a couple years back, Ileema and Quinim were leaders of a certain...business that upset the Holy Quintessential Court a great deal. The thing is, these tunnels used to be a headquarters. Keyword: used to. That was until it was discovered and destroyed. Long story short, shit happened, Ileema lost half of her hearing, and they sold the business to a group much more capable. Ever since then the trio has been extremely cautious around this area, suspicious of a repeat of last time. 

Even though the tunnels were completely hidden from light, the distinct shape of boxes of what used to be storage of their product were visible. As they got closer, Quinim could clearly see the burned remains of the records list laying untouched atop one of the boxes. She forced herself to look straight ahead. As they walked closer to the wreckage, her acute Galran ears picked up the soft sound of Ileema’s nose sniffing the air. She flicked her eyes to see Ileema grimace and take Quinim’s hand. Her companion could smell the lingering scent of rotting wood. Quinim hesitantly nuzzled Ileema’s shoulder before quickening her pace. 

Their journey neared to an end as the light at the exit of the tunnels’ came into view. Quinim and Aklan guided the fundamentally blind Ileema to the walls of the tunnels, trying to conceal themselves for a little longer. Just before they would be back in the sunlight, Quinim pulled the mask back over her face and watched as Ileema did the same. Quinim frowned. She fixed the crooked cloak and sighed, satisfied. Ileema quirked her brow. She shrugged in response. 

“It was bothering me,” she whispered, knowing full-well Ileema couldn’t hear her. Even with the, frankly, ugly mask covering her face, Quinim could feel the unimpressed glare Ileema was sending her. She smiled to herself and grabbed the now dirt-ridden chain. She wrapped it around her hand. With her free hand, she pulled the hood of the cloak over her head. 

Quinim motioned for Ileema to follow her. They walked out of the exit, mustering literally every ounce of confidence they had left in them, and proceeded into the Merchants’ Canopy.

The Merchants’ Canopy was a section of the forest open to the public. It was fenced off from the rest of the forest, therefore deeming it safe for public access. You couldn’t see it in the daylight, but lights were strung in the trees, giving the area a peaceful aura during the night. As one could presume from the name, the Merchants’ Canopy was a marketplace. Here, one could find absolutely anything they desired, if they looked hard enough. 

Just to be clear, the tunnel exit wasn’t directly in view of the Merchants’ Canopy. It was concealed by a near tree’s low-hanging branches. The branch was then covered with wild vines that had grown thick around it. They dripped down like icicles, but significantly more leafy. This reason, is why the cave went unnoticed to the people around them. 

Quinim, Ileema, and Aklan walked swiftly through the crowd of people looking to buy all sorts of odd trinkets. Quinim lead the group, anxiety creeping into her skin. Crowds were a pain for her. Illeema had mint, Quinim had people. 

The half-galra squinted, searching for a familiar face. The effort was futile, however, as the day’s light made it difficult for her to pick out defined figures. She furrowed her brow in annoyance and let out a soft groan. Aklan, ever keen in her hearing, heard Quinim’s displeasure and nuzzled the girl’s hand in comfort. 

Quinim felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to face Illeema, quirking her eyebrow. Her friend lazily lifted her arm to point at a dark alley tucked away from the commotion of the marketplace. It was then that she saw an old companion from their days of underground dealing. Trying to conceal her excitement, she power-walked over to a smart-mouthed character, sporting a stylish haircut and form fitting jeans with t-shirt and leather jacket. His race made him shorter than Quinim, who was already on the short side. Jack was a human guy they friended through Yerac. How Yerac met Jack, Quinim didn’t know, but she didn’t really care enough to ask. 

As the group approached their friend, they sped up, eager to reunited with Jack. Aklan reached their human friend first, affectionately nuzzling his chest. Jack, caught off guard, raised his brow and hesitantly patted Aklan’s head. Quinim followed after the lion and lifted up her mask, revealing her beaming face. Jack’s confusion immediately subsided and was replaced with new glee. 

“Qui!” he exclaimed, while the girl bent down to embrace him. Ileema wrapped her arms around the both of them and lifted the two in the air, leaving Aklan to whine softly from her place on the ground. 

“The hell are you doing here?” Jack asked, once Ileema dropped them back onto the ground. And, as an afterthought, he gestured to Ileema and continued, “and why are you high?”

“I feel like that shouldn’t be a question at this point,” stated Ileema.  
Jack gave a look of brugruding understandment, as if he agreed that Ileema shouldn’t be questioned for anything weird anymore.

“To answer your first question,” Quinim said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “We’re escaping.”

Jack’s eyes widened. He quickly glanced around at the moving crowd near them. Ushering Quinim and Ileema down the alley, he asked, “How can I help?”

Quinim glanced at Ileema, seeing a smirk grow on her lips. She mirrored her. 

“I need you to get us on the Castle of Lions,” Ileema said, gravely.

“What the fuck.”


	5. I’ve Got A Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is unfinished and i don’t intend to ever finish it. i’ve lost interest in voltron, mostly because of a couple of major writing choices i don’t agree with. it was fun while it lasted. this has and always will be just a dumb self-insert fic i didn’t mean to write.

Lance watched as the rest of the team was welcomed by a crowd of Norokan citizens. He could hear the cheering for their arrival. He forced himself to step away. He could feel a sickness in his stomach. Knowing that they wanted him dead...it was distressing.

Coran was off doing dick-knows-what somewhere in the castle. Probably cleaning. Maybe? What does Coran even do when he’s not manning the castle?

Lance found himself sighing. He shoved his hands in his pockets and let his legs guide him to an unknown destination. He was just wandering for a while around the castle. There was silence, excluding the soft and constant hum of energy flowing through the walls along with the pat of his shoes against the hall’s floor. He’d passed the bedroom about five times and assumed it had been a while since the other paladins left. 

There was a soft sound heard. Despite its light nature, there was a dull echo. He stopped at this, feeling his eyebrow raise. Lance waited for a second, thinking that it might be heard again. He heard another soft sound, this one sounding heavier and stronger. 

“What the…” he hesitantly tried to locate the source of this sound. As more sounds were heard, he walked faster, purpose gaining in every step. He was a little scared at this point, but there was more confusion than anything. That’s a lie. His confusion was about the same caliber as his curious desire to discover the sounds’ source. 

He was moving at something in between a jog and a walk when he heard news sounds. Sounds that made his fear spike. Voices.

He might have assumed Coran was talking to himself or something if they weren't so completely different to the advisor’s. The were both relatively feminine, however one sounded like they had been chain-smoking all their life and the other had strange cat-like qualities to it. 

Lance was panicking at this point. His previous curiosity had almost completely diminished and was replaced by a desire to protect his home. The voices were oddly clear in this hallway. That’s not to say he was in anyway close. The echo effect in the castle’s corridors allow a person to be fairly far away from the another and not even have to shout to be able to hear each other. Nonetheless, Lance made himself flat against the outward curving wall. He made his steps near silent, attempting some kind of ninja-stealth attack. He would need any advantage he could manage; he did not have a weapon or anything.

“-That even working? It’s gotta be some kind of magic right?”

The conversation was determinable now. 

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there because it’s definitely not magic,” the cat-like voice said.

“Well, it’s kind of magic?” came a third voice. Their voice was relatively high-pitched and had an feminine accent, however sounded as if it came from a dude. 

“Told ya!” the hoarse voice shouted. Lance could hear a soft slap as their voice was cut off. 

“Be quiet, idiot! We can’t let anyone know we’re here!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, the paladins are all out in the Capitol Temple, probably living in the lap of luxury,” they said in a mocking tone.

“What about the blue paladin, dumbass. We literally told him to stay on this castle-ship.”

There was a beat, and Lance stopped shuffling against the wall.

“Oh, right.”

“Well,” said the probably-a-dude, “I’m really going to miss you two.”

“Aw, Jack, we’re gonna miss you too,” whispered the hoarse voice. 

“Thank you,” said the cat-like voice, “for everything.” 

Lance was almost at the alcove of where he assumed they were hiding. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he saw them. 

There was a weird, watery and somehow electric sound and Lance jumped out in front of the opening. He gasped. Standing in front of him where two feminine beings, who were a good three feet taller than him. They both look decidedly alien, with the shorter one looking to be a galran half-breed. The half-galran’s skin was almost white and covered in purple spots ranging in size, with one large patch over her right, yellow, and glowing eye. The very tall being’s body what mostly obscured by a dark cloak cast over her. Her hair was like that of a raven and hung down low enough to brush the tops of her shoulders. In between the cat-like ear atop her head were two small and round, green antennae looking things. Her eyes and mouth were wide with surprise, and she appeared to be tense all over.

Lance’s eyes followed an almost golden chain that the half-galra’s hand was gripping tightly. Attached to it was a green,furious lion. A fucking lion. If Lance was scared before, he was terrified now.

“Oh my gods,” whispered the the third member of the trio. “He’s so small.”

His attention was directed to a round and curvy being. Her skin was a pale yellow with bright blue and yellow patches on her right arm, which emulated vinegar in water. Her cloak was draped over her shoulders, covering a wrap-looking thing that shifted in color similarly to the patch on her skin. Unlike her only slightly shorter companion, her eyes were alight with a similar glaze as one might look at a small pet.

“Sugar, stay back,” came the one clutching the chain, grabbing the yellow lady’s cloak with her free hand. “That’s one of the paladins.”

“Sugar?” Lance said aloud, recognizing the term of endearment. “You’re...you two are the ones who called us! Ileema and Quinim! You told us about the high priests!”

Lance suddenly felt weird seeing them, significantly less pixelated and a lot taller than he expected. 

“You are so much tinier than I thought,” Ileema cooed. “Can I pet your long fur?”

He leaned away as Ileema slowly brought a four fingered hand to the top of his head. “What? No you can’t pet my hair?”

“But you look so soft…” she replied, dejectedly. She did put her hand back at her side which Lance appreciated.

“What the hell are you two doing here? Why did your call cut out? Why do you have a lion?” Lance questioned, his voice cracking panickedly.


End file.
